Black & Blue
by ChrissiHR
Summary: Embry's mark may have saved Bella's life, but freedom comes at a price - for both of them. Years of hard work and sacrifice to support an absent mate forced him to grow up and left him wondering if she'd ever come home. She's been on a mission to repay Embry's kindness, living a life in service to the tribe. TR's 2014 Holiday Contest, Winner of both 1st Pl Author & 1st Pl Artist
1. Black & Blue, the Holiday OS

**A/N:**_I had so much fun writing and making my banner for Tricky Raven's 2014 holiday contest and I ended up winning 1st place Author and 1st place Artist. I'm still sitting here blinking because I wrote angsty Embrella for a wolf fic holiday contest and I won. WITH EMBRELLA. *grins* __My other Embrella fic, "How do I love thee?" is, at best, the bastard red-headed step-child of my one-shots, so the win took me completely by surprise. __Thanks very much to all the readers and voters at Tricky Raven and congrats to all the other holiday contest winners!_

**Title:** Black &amp; Blue  
**Pairing:** Embry/Bella  
**Rating:** M, for language  
**Genre:** angst/romance

**Disclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

Festooned and gaily lit, the Uley home bulged at the seams as the pack gathered early one morning in mid-December.

Embry stretched, pencil flying across paper as he worked to tune out the ravening horde gathered at Sam's, eating the former Alpha out of house and home. Though he appreciated the support, it wasn't a big deal—being interviewed. As his artwork gained a following in Seattle, featurette pieces became frequent occurrences. His gratitude at being called rather than interviewed live couldn't be overstated.

Because _fuck mornings._

"Shh…!" Jake ordered. "It's on."

The pack swarmed the living room, scuffling over the 'good' seats.

"_Good morning, Seattle," _came the chipper voice of KOMO-TV reporter, Katy Morningstar. _"We're at Key Arena this morning with Rat City Rollergirls, Seattle's pride, the first professional rollerderby league in Washington. Rat City Rollergirls will be hosting its annual Black-and-Blue Brawl-and-Ball over the next twelve days, culminating in its signature New Year's fundraiser. Rat City Rollergirls has been a safe haven for young women in Seattle since its inception, a place to work out some aggression, but its newest initiative—a mentoring program for troubled teens and runaways—is spearheaded by a woman who knows all too well what it's like to be on the receiving end of that same mentorship. I'm here with Throttle Rockets Team Captain and teen league coach, Call of Booty."_

The reporter grinned.

Embry snorted, recognizing Call of Booty as the promoter he'd been emailing for months while he worked on marketing materials for the New Year's Eve fundraiser and trading card designs for the league.

"_Call of Booty is a stage name, obviously. Here at Key Arena, she's also known as the tough as nails Vice President of Public and Media Relations—_

Coverage cut away from the reporter's sunny grin to a scene straight out of Hollywood. He followed Booty's jersey, cringing when she turned mother-wolf, defending a younger teammate after a blatant series of illegal hits.

The petite, curvy skater named Booty took exception with umbrage, her thick, ombre-teal braids whipping as she threw an elbow in the bitch's face and told her to pick on someone her own size if she wanted a _good_ fight. When the skater tried to corner Booty, cocking her arm back to take that advice, Booty grabbed the chick's jersey, hauling her close and taking the hit in the face like a champ. Her head snapped back and she returned the hit like a volleyed serve, easily dishing out two blows to every one she took.

Embry winced at the pounding of fists on flesh.

The footage cut to the live feed, and the tiny tattooed terror. Head bowed, the skeletal figure of a Misfits decal on Booty's helmet tipped to the camera like a sinister mask.

A wry grin teased his lips.

Someone called out, _"Bella!"_

Jake's sharp intake of breath pulled Embry's attention from the drawing in his lap to the face on the screen.

Waving, she turned her body, and with it, his world—upside-down.

_Bella._

Automatically, he cataloged the changes as the camera panned out. The brown-eyed girl next door was gone. In her place, a tattooed, badass butterfly unfurled its little punk wings.

Tattoos cascaded over creamy shoulders to padded elbows. A grey wolf—_his_ wolf, he realized, startled—sprawled across a shoulder, it's muzzle nestled over the curve of breast. The Quileute pack tattoo in violet-blue occupied her other shoulder. Bold colors swirled down both arms. Opposite the wolf, trailing from eyebrow to clavicle, a minuscule pattern of black and blue stars framed the silvered lines of his mark.

Rasping breaths grated over fraying nerves. Unable to trust his eyes, he clenched them shut, shaking his head. "Tell me I'm seeing things; it can't be her."

Silence.

"_Isabella Call is a single mother of six adopted children and two grandchildren, hailing from native tribes in Washington and Vancouver. A legend in downtown Seattle, she's a favorite bartender at the infamous Coyote Ugly, where she still works on occasion._

"_At twenty-six years old, Bella was named the youngest VP in Key Arena's history. Arena owner, Jeff White speaks proudly of her contributions and fresh ideas, calling her an integral part of both their corporate team __and__ their ground-breaking professional rollerderby league. Her trading card will be the first professional WFTDA card made available to the public at Key Arena. Meet and greet autograph-signing sessions will be he held throughout the Black &amp; Blue bouts and events at Key Arena over the twelve-day tournament. Her children and grandchildren—_

The footage cut once more to a group of teenagers and toddlers clustered around Bella. A huge one, built like a wolf, covered from neck to wrists in tattoos, hugged her gently, the words 'so good, Mom' unheard, but easy to read on his lips.

"—_Drew, Thad, and Kit Lahote; Jessa, Chloe, Colton, Annie, and Joey Uley—wish their mother a great season and look forward to seeing her show Seattle her mettle and skill this week. For more information, visit Rat City Rollergirls DOT com . Back to you, Ron."_

"Dude…" Jared swallowed, clutching his phone. "I checked the website. It's really her."

Collin looked confused, murmuring, "But this is good, right…?"

"She's in fucking Seattle, but she hasn't called him," Paul hissed.

Jake murmured in wonder, "'Call of Booty' … _Call_ … She's using your name, man…"

"I know." The words were subhuman, guttural. Stumbling to the door, Embry growled, fighting for control, toeing off his boots and snarling final orders before the wolf exploded,"I'm going to find her. Nobody interferes."

In a burst of dark grey, he leapt into the woods.

Eight years' waiting, wondering if he would see her again, it all dissolved in the space of a heart beat.

His mate had returned and he intended to give her good reason to stay.

* * *

The pack converged on the forested outskirts of the little city by the sea, Kingston. They settled beyond the treeline at the edge of Sunset Hill Farm, according to public record.

"Horses, chickens, a pair of goats wreaking havoc, orchards, pumpkins, corn maze…" Collin phased in to report on his research. "Supposed to be a good investment. She bought it at auction in August."

Embry 'hmm'd, the pack privy to the wolf's approving rumble, pleased she spent the money investing in her future.

"_What money…?"_ Jake couldn't help but ask.

His mind filled with dates and numbers, the satisfaction of making another hefty deposit, setting aside tens of thousands of dollars earned from art sales in an account for Bella.

The wolf pushed Embry to hunt all over Seattle for months after she left, pulled by the bond, eventually locating a social worker who admitted she knew Bella Swan. Meg agreed to deliver an envelope stuffed with bank cards and checks under the names Embry and Bella Call, tribal documents signed by Chief Black and Elders Ateara and Clearwater, naturalizing Bella Call as a member of the Nation of the Quileute Tribe by virtue of tribal handfasting.

And a note.

"_**My mark is a promise to take care of you, not only yesterday, but whenever, **__**however**__** I'm able. Let me do this much, so you're never hungry or cold. Call if you need me. -Emb"**_

"_Embry…?"_ Jake asked, recalling the little he knew about what happened eight years ago.

_In a desperate attempt to save the life of his best friend's love, Embry sat Bella down, spelling out the painful reality. "Humans are susceptible to vampire thrall, Bella—potentially dependent—with a leech smothering you twenty-four, seven."_

"_Like a drug?"_

_He nodded._

"_I always wondered … if it was him or if I really am a sheep…?" she whimpered. "How can I tell?"_

"_I don't think you can."_

_Embry's words devastated Bella, but an alternative existed. _

"_Marking." He explained the only known antidote to thrall. _

_He continued, "Jake isn't around to do it __before__ the wedding, but—" _

_Bella cut him off, "Does it __have__ to be Jake?"_

"_No," he whispered, "but it only works if you're … intimate, so…" _

"_Sex… with you," Bella supplied, understanding, yet ignorant of its significance._

_Embry knew, but worried about the effect on her if he confessed the permanence, the binding connection they would create._

_Forever. _

_She would be free, even if it killed him. _

Embry lost his breath as the wolf flooded his mind with memories from_ that_ night.

_Slender arms around his waist, her little knees hugging his hips—_

_The blissful beauty of her face and kiss-swollen lips as he covered her body with his own—_

_Shock at discovering the resistance of her virginity—_

_Silent tears kissed away—_

"_Embry, please!"_

_Sinking his teeth into her throat like sinking into her welcoming heat— _

_Cinnamon eyes clearing as awareness rose from the ashes of thrall—_

_Those same eyes glazed with desire, for him—_

_Curling up in bed for hours after loving and marking her again—_

_Nose pressed to healing, pink skin—_

_Waking to an empty bed and the clawing emptiness of finding one's mate before she's ready to belong to anyone but herself—_

_The note on his nightstand—_

"_**You're amazing, Embry, but too kind, too selfless for a burden like me. I don't deserve you. I want to become the kind of woman who does, but I'm not her yet. You have my friendship, forever. -All my love, Bella"**_

Incredulous, Jake breathed the words filling his head, _"All this time…?"_

"_It'll always be her,"_ wolf and man answered as one, settling muzzle over paws to wait … and learn about their mate.

* * *

Noting Bella's two older boys were bulking up, possibly weeks from phasing, the pack kept a round-the-clock watch on the rambling hundred-year-old farmhouse.

The artist in Embry appreciated the clean, unfussy lines of her home's craftsman style. It suited her.

He never imagined she bought a farm when he saw the big withdrawal a few months ago. The records said she got it for a song at auction.

Another point to Embry's pride—to provide her the means to buy the place for her kids and move home to the Peninsula.

He hummed in contentment when home-heating oil was delivered. She paid with a check—the checkbook he sent all those years ago.

And when her boys needed work boots, he overheard her reading off the card number for their account while the boys placed the order online.

"_She's using you for money. It doesn't bug you?"_ Quil worried. _"She's a big deal VP, moonlighting as a pro athlete, and bartending for huge tips on weekends. Then she buys this farm—"_

_Embry ran out of patience, taking aim and unloading both barrels of frustration on his best friend. "Did it occur to you there's a reason a single mom works four jobs? The two boys living at home can't work anywhere but on the farm. She thinks they're going to phase, so she keeps them busy here and works herself into the ground. _

"_Her oldest daughter has two kids and no child support. The middle girl, Annie, is sick—a chronic medical condition. The bills eat up every spare dollar. Kit, the youngest girl? Bella only found her a few months ago. The kid is fourteen and __pregnant__. The father bolted, and her mother abandoned her because she repeated her mother's mistake. _

"_Yeah, she uses __our__ money to take care of __our__ kids—the pack's kids, because it's no coincidence they're all Uleys and Lahotes. She works with CPS, looking for more kids she suspects carry the wolf gene. She's been on a fucking mission to keep what happened to me from happening to any of them, preventing kids from phasing ignorant of their legends. And she's raising them __with love._

"_So no, it doesn't bug me she uses the __fucking money__! I'd willingly give every dime to heat her home and take care of her kids._ _What bugs me is she won't ask for __help__. She has my number, Quil! __I__ could be out here at the asscrack-of-fucking-dawn, tossing feed and straw like Superman. She could __sleep__—lay her exhausted body down for four solid hours of rest for once, but she doesn't fucking __want__ me!"_

"_Emb…"_ Jake crooned, inky Alpha-bass unruffling bristled fur.

"_Can't believe that's Swan,"_ Paul muttered as Quil and Embry settled in to their watch-posts.

Her bike rumbled up the lane, grinding to a halt. Old and worn, it purred as well-maintained bikes should, most likely because of the man waiting on the porch.

"Drew!" she squealed, swinging off the bike as he barreled down the steps to meet halfway, sweeping her up in a hug.

"You always sound surprised when you see me." Burying his nose, he nuzzled soft curls.

"Not surprised, just delighted to have all my babies under one roof. I worry about you in Seattle."

"And I worry about you." Cradling her head, he pressed a hand to her back, wincing when his fingers found protruding ribs. "Thad and Joey tell me you're still restless. You never sleep. You do too much, Mom. I should move out here—"

"No. You have a shop, clients… Nobody gets tattoos out here."

"Says the tattooed lady," he smirked, pressing cheek to temple, thumb stroking the tip of the wolf's ear at her clavicle—the first patch of flesh he tattooed on another person. "You could hire some part-time help. I'll pay for it."

"Drew, we agreed—"

"Or you could call _him_," he said with quiet conviction.

"Who?" she played dumb, unable, though, to fool her son.

Nor the man sketching in the woods.

The pad of his thumb ghosted over the mark at her throat, "The one who loved you."

He smiled into her hair when she moved unconsciously away from the wrong man's touch.

"Loved? Oh, honey… You misunderstand. The mark, these tattoos… They're reminders to myself, to try to be the kind of person—the kind of friend he was to me. A _friend_. A selfless, wonderful friend who helped me escape a destructive relationship."

"You could still call him."

"I think he's keeping his distance out of respect for my wishes."

Embry grumbled, wondering how pissed she'd be if she discovered a wolf sleeping on the porch roof outside her window. At this point, though, her health was worth risking her anger if she caught him.

"Why do you say that?" The kid was curious.

"Intuition, restful dreams… When I _do_ sleep…"

"You dream of him?"

"All the time," she whispered.

Embry moaned, pressing the heels of his hands to his eye sockets until spots appeared.

Because he dreamed of her, too.

"You call that mark a friendly gesture, but you dream of him all the time during the hour or so of sleep you squeak by on…? And _I'm_ the one who misunderstands…?"

They stared one another down, the future wolf winning this round.

She sighed, relenting, "I was already making my way back home with you before Meg called me about Joey and Thad. They needed me, too. That was … five _years_ ago…? It's not easy to pack up a house with eight kids, two dogs, a ferret, and those demon-goddamned-goats."

"He'd come if you asked."

Embry begged to differ—he'd pack his bags, sell his house, and camp in the front yard if she asked.

"My sweet boy, worrying about your mom. Lemme make you some waffles,"she ended the discussion, tugging his arm.

He sighed. "You go ahead. I'll get the bike."

Smiling when he bent to her level, she pecked his cheek.

He waited until the door closed, then pulled an envelope stuffed with cash out of his pocket, stashing it in the bag she left on the porch.

Embry watched Drew roll the bike into the barn. Checking the oil and tires, he moved with quiet efficiency, completing the early morning chores, too. Drawing it out long enough for Bella to doze off at the counter, arm clutching a bowl of unfinished batter.

The grey wolf rumbled approval when the boy put away the batter and carried her to bed. Bella made a half-hearted, sleepy protest, insisting she take the couch—he could have her bed, murmuring 'termites' and 'guest room'.

"You're not sleeping on the goddamn couch—or the floor. Christ, Mom, you need a week's worth of meals and a vacation."

"Midwife, nine, n'town." she mumbled.

—the rub of denim, cotton—

"I'll drive Kit. You sleep in. Want shorts?"

"Mmm…" —a blanket snapping and settling— "Got Drew's shorts."

He chuckled, "_I'm_ Drew, Mom."

"Mmhmm… Lv'you."

—whispering— "Love you, too, Ma."

—another voice, echoing, the teen, Joey— "Jessa's taking Chloe to bed. I'll go crash in The Pink Palace. You can have mine."

—whispering— "The insomnia is getting worse. She sleeps, at best, an hour or two a night."

"Yeah." —scratching— "You think he'd come if _we_ asked him?"

"La Push?"

"Yeah."

"Dunno. Maybe."

The household settled for the night, Embry's gaze flickering window to window, keeping vigil over Bella's brood, wondering, not for the first time, at the reference to La Push.

Phased out, sketchbook in hand, he listened to her heart. Drawing on years of meditative practice, he paced his breath to hers, relaxing and forcing-feeding it through the bond. He drew her from memory, focusing on her mark to muzzle the wolf's restless need from bleeding through as well.

The house creaked, buffeted by wind. Stately and weathered—proof of withstanding harsher winters—its pale green siding and white trim only looked a little shabby. He imagined himself with busy work on weekend afternoons to ease her burdens; sanding, painting shutters, edging overgrown walkways, tuning up the tractor the boys were rebuilding. The pack could come over one warm Saturday to build a swing set and sandbox for the little ones in the side yard—where Bella could watch them play.

Focusing on calming his mind, Embry phased less often, sitting human and quiet in the woods. Dozing off mid-patrol, he benefited almost as much as Bella when her restlessness ebbed. She slept better and at length, with him so near and calm.

When Drew came to visit, she'd curl up in the family room with her kids in a puppy pile, but only when all of them were home.

When Embry was in the woods.

Drew told the older ones his suspicions, that it was a pack thing, that she could only sleep well with all her chicks around her. He was half-right, anyway.

Paul saw something in Drew that gave him pause, an undeniable resemblance to Embry.

"She loves him, but not just because he looks like you—and that's weird for reasons I'm not ready to discuss, so don't poke that shit with a stick yet, Call," Paul sneered. "She loves my dad's brats, despite being related to me, and she's raising them as her own, like it doesn't matter."He stretched, grinning toothily over his shoulder as he rose to phase and run a loop,"If you don't marry that woman, I will."

Embry sat, camouflaged by tall grass in the morning pasture, gazing at the twinkling spectrum of lights in her window. He imagined the comfort of sliding into bed beside her, the joy of being welcome there … laying in the dark and holding her.

Again.

He wanted it, more than anything.

To love her, to be welcome after all this time, to shower her with affection and attention, and to shoulder her burdens.

To feel a greater sense of purpose.

To work this farm and yell at her ornery goats…

To raise these kids…

With _her._

* * *

Days later, on the eve of the new year, the air crackled with anticipation.

Soaked in sweat and blood, smudges of lipstick and mascara peppered raw bruises—a rainbow of them from shoulder to knee. She hissed, wincing from the sting of fresh rink rash, hip aching like a bitch in heat.

Coasting to the locker room after the final bout, she glanced into the stands to find her kids, breaking into a grin when she caught a glimpse—Colton on her oldest son's shoulders, his tiny hands cupping Drew's jaw, fingers pinching at his neck—

She choked.

No neck tattoos.

Not Drew.

Paul…

Scanning the stands, she spotted the rest of her kids when they jumped to their feet.

Surrounded by the pack.

Her heart stuttered.

"Woohoohoo, Nana Booty!" her growing fan club cheered. Chloe stood in Sam's lap, held at the waist, waving a 'Call of Booty' pennant in the air, their delighted grins a matched set. Colton sat on Paul's shoulders with a mile-wide grin and his own pennant, narrowly missing the Alpha's eye as Jake stood hooting and hollering with her three girls.

Her eyes jumped from face to face, searching, suddenly desperate for reasons she couldn't explain to see one face in particular among the familiar.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me," a voice whispered from her past.

Heat race up her spine, skin prickling with proximity.

"Embry…" She closed her eyes, the tension of separation dissolving so rapidly, she felt boneless.

Cradling her head in both hands, she turned, sick, shoulders trembling, almost too overwhelmed to face him at all.

"We saw the interview." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Don't get pissed, but we put a patrol on the farm. Your boys looked ready to phase on TV and— I know that's a shit excuse, too, but I needed— I was gonna call— They beat me to it," he confessed, relieved the kids were on the same page; they all wanted what was best for Bella. "Drew called Billy, demanded my number, threatened him—"

"_Don't get pissed?_ _I'm_ not pissed. I thought you'd be—" She blinked. "Wait. _Drew_ threatened Billy?"

"The kid knew where to look, not who to strongarm. Resourceful." A wry grin. "I'm glad he did. You can be pissed at him; I don't think he'll mind." Embry's half-smile melted her heart.

She worked up her nerve. Their eyes met and she gasped for air, surfacing from the abyss.

"They arranged for tickets, cornered Jake in Port Ang when he agreed to meet them, and demanded to know where I've been for eight years… You've got some good kids, Nana Booty," he chuckled.

She smiled, dropping her gaze to the floor between them, thick waves of aquamarine spilling over her shoulder.

He cleared his throat.

"You going to the party?" He jerked his chin at the signs leading to the New Year's fundraiser, ignoring the elephant in the room.

"That…?" she rolled her eyes. "—not my thing. Dancing in my leather minidress and thigh boots? No. Just part of the stage persona—promo pictures. My kids want to make pizza and popcorn. We play cards on New Year's. I try to give them…" She trailed off with a guilty look, realizing he knew them better—had _been_ them, at one time.

"—a slice of normal." His blinding smile lit the room. "It sounds … kind of perfect. We could—"

"My _kids_ are my life, Embry."

He knew that, more than anything.

Worried she'd get the wrong idea, he rushed to agree, "I'm not saying they shouldn't be. What you're doing—"

Moth to her flame, he closed the distance.

"—for your kids—it's amazing."

She flushed—his Venus, pale pink and lovely.

His fingers itched to be buried in her mermaid locks, to tip her head back and claim her throat all over again. Years of scant memories rationed to sustain a hollow soul had not prepared him. She was, as she had always been, a feast for the eyes.

Clenching, he released his fist, reaching for her, halting splayed fingers millimeters from lustrous skin.

Before he could drop his hand, she submitted, nestling into the curve of his wide palm, inviting its warm pressure.

Surrendering to her need, he cradled her jaw, sliding his hand into silky cerulean waves and inhaling her lush perfume.

The wolf sat up, taking notice, too.

His thumbnail drew a curious circle around the tiny star tattoo at her temple.

The whispered "Sirius" had his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Your star…" she exhaled, her breath laced with pheremones and the delicate scent of her latent arousal. He resisted the urge to open his mouth for a taste, but it wasn't easy. "The Dog Star of Canis Major—the brightest star in the night sky, the closest one to … me."

"And this one?" He traced a pattern over the constellation beside her lower lashes, watched the quiver of her bottom lip. His thumb stroked the delicate curve of cheekbone.

"Canes Venatici, 'the hunting dogs'—for the pack." His finger blazed a trail of heat to the next and she shivered.

Pressing her lips together, she made an effort to compose herself.

Finally, he stroked the collection of stars framing his mark.

"Lupus." Wavering, she inhaled, then released, "the wolf—my wolf."

She came alive beneath his touch.

At the first heated curl of breath, she resisted the urge to shy away, offering her throat with a tip of her chin. Her lashes fluttered as he reaquainted himself with her face and body, devouring her with his eyes, cataloging every lash and curl to duplicate later.

In case she disappeared again.

Nerves nearly overwhelmed her, but she had to make him understand it wasn't an exercise in vanity.

She rode his breaths, steadying her nerves.

His skin seared her palms through the thin T-shirt he wore and she gasped, unaccustomed to his blazing heat.

Unable to to say the words when his eyes stole her breath, she closed her own and gave him the hope she carried with her, what got her through long, dark nights and troubled days, "You were _always_ with me, Embry. When I couldn't sleep, you were in the stars above when I walked on endless nights. When I dreamed—" she touched Lupus, "your wolf was there, standing between me and the nightmares. When I was lonely—" fingers ghosted over his mark, "I remembered your promise and my resolve to come home worthy of it one day."

"To me? Or for closure?" His hand covered her fingers, stroking the mark. She bit back a groan when arousal yanked at her solar plexus.

"To you. Always you," she gasped.

But she still saw it.

His eyes bore witness to the pain of eight long years' loneliness.

Pain _she_ brought to him, her savior.

So quiet, afraid to breathe, afraid of being the one left behind this time, she confessed, "You're so much more than a means to an end to me. You're the man I trust. I didn't want you to worry, but I needed to go. I needed to live by my own rules and decide what was best for me. And I _did_."

He reeled her in to press a kiss to the crown of her head and confess his need, "I know, and I would never begrudge you leaving—but I can't keep pretending I'm _living_ without you in my life. You're this close. You could use my help, even if it's only as Uncle Embry to your kids."

Bella smiled. "When I missed two weeks of work a few years ago, taking care of a houseful of kids with the flu, I stressed over the usual stuff—bills to pay, mouths to feed. Your mark, the checkbook—both reminded me of your promise to take care of me. I wished you were there, but I had sick kids depending on me and no time to mend broken fences to beg for help."

"Bella, if you needed me—" He took a resetting breath. "My note said to call if you needed me. It wasn't conditional."

She fidgeted. "I couldn't… I just couldn't. I've given you no reason to forgive me or believe in me. I couldn't ask you to bail me out again when things got tough. I needed to show you I kept my promise, too, before we try to fix us."

"Who says anything needs fixing or forgiving?"

She withdrew, old insecurities making way for doubt. It couldn't be as easy as he made it sound, like forgiveness was hers for the asking.

"You're too hard on yourself, Bella Call." his voice was soft, insistent.

Heart fluttering as his lips caressed her name, she asked to be sure, "So I'm forgiven, just like that?"

"There's nothing to forgive."

"Nothing?" she exhaled.

"Never was." He shook his head, gathering her close.

She tucked her head under his, listening to the beat of his heart.

"I'm good," he promised. "This, right here … I never need more than I have in this moment, with you."

"So, we're _friends_…?" She tried not to laugh when he squeezed her in reprimand. "—who snuggle," she amended.

"Lovers," he supplied, lips nipping at her ear. "We were pretty good at that."

"L-lovers…" she moaned, yielding, closing the distance.

"Family." —the warmth of his mouth, the heated stroke of fingers— "Your family. Ours. Tell me how I can help. Tell me what you need, Bella."

"I don't need help. I just need you."

* * *

In the final moments of the year, Bella sat beside Embry, sipping a mug of cocoa. "I swear you bring it with you."

"What?"

She bit her lip, eyes going sly and cheeks pinking up.

"Magic." She shrugged.

He toed the floor, the porch swing swaying while shimmering snowflakes began to fall on the yard over her shoulder where the pack and kids ran wild, howling a raucous countdown to midnight.

"Uh-uh, you have that backwards," he insisted, plucking the mug from her fingers to set aside.

He slid across the bench, pulling her legs over his lap. "The magic's always been yours. I'm incidental."

"Hmm… You should stay."

"I could stay," he agreed, lips hovering over hers, "but I heard the guest room has termites."

His breath warmed her lips.

"Bummer. Guess you'll have to bunk with me."

"Okay, but I call top bunk."

She laughed. "Shut up and kiss me."

His mouth closed over hers as the old year died, giving birth to the next, and she realized they were both wrong—

Because this—coming together—it was the real magic.

* * *

**E/N:**_ I really just want to lay down and roll myself up in the blanket of feels and fluff at the end there; don't you? Leave me some love in the comments if you enjoyed Embrella, too!_


	2. Drew, the First to Ask

**Drew, the First to Ask**

* * *

**Pairing: **Bella; her oldest son, Drew (at age 12); mentions of Jacob and Charlie,(Embry/Bella), this is an outtake from my Black &amp; Blue Embrellaverse

**Genre:** hurt/comfort/family

**Rating: **T, some rough language from a 12 year old POV

**Prompt: **"It's been two months."

* * *

_"Momma!" _

Footsteps rushed down the hall.

"Drew?" A young face—not a stranger—peered around the doorway. "May I come in?"

He whimpered, tugging the covers up around his ears. He nodded extra-hard to be sure she saw.

When she knelt beside the bed with her arms folded on top of the covers by his side, it took all his willpower to hold still. He had a bad dream about his mom coming for him, taking him away. He wanted, more than anything, to launch himself at Bella, but Drew Lahote learned the hard way to be wary.

Trust is a tricky thing. You give it too easily, you get burned. His mom taught him that. His bio mom. That's how the kids in the system labeled them—the "bio moms". And then there were the "do-gooders", the ones who'd take you in and try to clean you up and make you believe things could be different before you got sent back to hell anyway.

Bella Swan didn't fit either mold. In all his twelve years, he'd never met anyone like Bella—and make no mistake, they were hard years with a junkie-addict mom working the system and the streets. The social worker, Meg, called Bella special. She said Bella asked for him in particular because he was somebody she could help. He didn't give a shit about any of that social worker, psycho-therapy crap, though.

Bella was only nineteen when Drew met her and the therapist thought Meg was crazy for allowing it, but Bella took him in anyway. Sure, she was young, but she made a better mom than anyone he ever knew. She cooked and cleaned like dirt offended her, and made sure he got to his therapy appointments and check-ups on time every week. She impressed the therapists and pediatrician right off.

But other things mattered more to Drew. For the first time in his life, he had his own room with a real bed and a desk for doing homework. There were always new pencils and fresh notebooks, and he had a winter coat and boots and an extra blanket on his bed in case he got cold.

Bella ran a tight ship, so he learned early on how to make his bed every morning and kept his room neat so she had one less thing to do. She took him shopping and he got to pick out new Dexter's Laboratory sheets for his room and decorate it with posters and little things she made or bought when they explored the city on weekends. He got an allowance and set some aside in his secret hiding place, but she made sure he had enough left over to buy a new comic book every week, too.

While he did his homework, she taught herself to knit from a library book and YouTube videos. She knitted him a big, fluffy blanket to match his sheets. After that, she made a scarf, and gloves, and a hat with a pom-pom on top in the Seattle Seahawks colors and told him her dad liked the Seahawks, so she figured Drew might, too.

One Saturday, she left early and came home with a second-hand saucer sled and padded pants she told him to pull on over his jeans so they could go play in the snow. They went to the park in the afternoon and played for hours that day. He never got to do anything like it before. He never had gloves or a warm coat in the winter, so playing outside never occurred to him.

Most mornings, she made him hot oatmeal with fresh blueberries or strawberries because she hated to be cold, and, sometimes, she made homemade cocoa when the snow chased him back under the covers into the nest of blankets and pillows and homemade things she collected just for him over the months since she brought him home.

Drew knew she worked hard for those little luxuries and he appreciated every one. He cried the morning she showed up at the breakfast table with a Minecraft Creeper stuffy she knitted at night after he went to bed. It was as big as his bed pillow and he loved Minecraft.

He loved that she knew him so well.

Awake hours before him, she worked all day while he went to school, and even a few hours most evenings on the small farm to the north of Seattle. She was always cold, but, thankfully, the job came with housing—a small place with a pellet stove, two bedrooms, free milk and eggs, and reliable work and pay, so discomforts like cold and hunger became distant memories in a past he'd rather forget completely. She went to work _every day_ and he never came home from school to find her stoned in her room with a John, unlike his bio mom.

Bella kept the fridge full and the pantry stocked and he almost _couldn't _remember what it felt like to be hungry all the time anymore. When he ate second helpings, she smiled and patted his back. Sometimes, he got the impression she would have hugged him, too, but she gave him space and let him decide when he was ready to be touched.

Sure, she got mad when things didn't always go her way, but she never took it out on him, never once raised a hand to hit him. He remained wary, but stopped flinching at every huff of breath and bang of a kitchen cupboard. He did his best to behave and be quiet and stay out of her way until she told him one day it was okay to act like a kid. She promised not to become angry when he acted like a twelve year old if he'd promise not to tiptoe around her in their home.

_Their _home.

Drew began to believe there might be people in the world who didn't hit when they got mad, who didn't take out their anger and frustration on the easiest target. When Bella got upset, she cooked, and cleaned, and baked cookies and cupcakes and brownies until the small store in town ran out of flour and cocoa.

The morning after she baked off her mad, she'd send him to school with a note and a box of baked goods for his class and made him a hero in sixth grade. He went to school in clean clothes after a hot shower every day, too, and finally started to answer questions in class and make real friends.

One Friday, out of the blue, she gave Drew a nudge on his way out the door, hinting he could invite some friends over from his comic book club and school to play Dungeons and Dragons. Bella made a big pot of meatballs for subs and buttered corn on the cob, and she smiled into her book where she sat in the window seat every time Drew laughed.

He noticed she liked to see him happy and that made him even happier.

Bella Swan was good people. Meg told him that, too.

But Bella _showed_ him. She taught him how to ride a bike and bait a hook and gut a fish. Charlie taught her those things, she said.

He looked forward to meeting Charlie someday.

She's the one who noticed how much he struggled with his school work and asked the questions that forced him to admit he couldn't read so good. He did okay with comics, but school was harder and the words—he didn't know them all the time or how to look them up.

Bella tutored him to help him catch up with his grade level, even when she was tired and cranky and still had to pull dinner together at the end of a long day. He studied, then helped with the dishes so she would sit down and put her feet up while she checked his homework.

And now … he had a nightmare and he needed something he couldn't ask for because he couldn't _name it_. His twelve years' hard-earned experience failed to prepare him for the intense feelings suddenly swamping him day and night. He knew he needed _something_, but he didn't know what!

Overwhelmed, he yanked the covers over his head, rubbing spent tears inside his blanket. It smelled like her, but he didn't want her to see him cry. She liked to see him happy and being sad would make her sad, too.

Her… It was _her_. He needed—

She cleared her throat, "Sometimes…" She bit her lip and hugged her elbows, like she needed something to do with her hands. "Sometimes, I feel like I need a hug, like I'll go crazy if someone doesn't hug me. I had a friend once…" Her voice trailed off and she looked sad. "I had a friend who knew all about the magic of hugs. He was my best friend in the whole world. I think he was onto something. Hugs have magic. If you don't want to, it's okay, but I sure could use a hug sometimes. If you wanted to, that is." She glanced at him and dropped her eyes to the blanket, giving him space to think. No pressure. Drew hated being forced to make a decision.

She knew that about him, too.

And _he_ knew she hugged herself sometimes instead of hugging him, even when she wanted to, but he didn't want pity-hugs. He liked the idea of other hugs, the kind he never had, the kind he wished he had a mom to give him sometimes, when he was a little kid and he still thought the monsters under the bed were the worst kind.

But now he knew. The monsters were real. They worked and partied and got stoned and walked around in broad daylight and you only called them mom because they were there when you were born, but not when it mattered.

Not like Bella.

Coming to a quick decision, he threw off the covers and dived at her. Wrapping arms and legs around her torso, he sobbed, "She's not coming back, is she? She's never coming back… I wanna stay here with you…" he sniffled against her neck.

Bella rubbed his back. He loved her more for not making promises she wouldn't keep, for withholding useless buzzwords and bullshit other adults used like shields to deflect his pain.

"I want you here with me, Andrew Lahote. I'll do everything in my power to make that happen." She brushed the hair from his eyes and held him tight, rocking him in her lap. "Okay?"

Nodding, he hiccuped and sniffled and squeezed her tighter and she squeezed back. She held him a while and let him cry.

And he fell in love with Bella Swan.

Drew was the first to ask, "Can I call you mom?"

* * *

**A/N:** _So … Remember the Tricky Raven 3rd Annual Silent Auction I mentioned last week? It ends this week and I'm up on the auction block! This collection of outtakes is something YOU could request more of if you're my high bidder. If you have an idea for something you'd like to see in my Black &amp; Blue Embrellaverse, the auction is your chance to have your idea turned into an outtake or futuretake, just like the background story of Drew! But the auction ends Tuesday, April 21st, so don't wait! You can find the link to Tricky Raven on my profile page. Be sure to tell them I sent you! See you at the auction!_

_Aww... I love Drew! Leave me some love in the comments if you loved him, too!_


	3. Jessa, the First to Imprint

**A/N:** _Howdy folks! Long time, no see! This is a little holiday follow-up to my award-winning Embrella one-shot from last Christmas, Black &amp; Blue. **It's unedited, un-beta'd, un-PR'd**, so all mistakes and repetitive, ugly writing and passive voice are on me. :P I literally just finished it less than an hour ago to post it tonight as a Christmas surprise for all of you. Apologies in advance for my rusty writing. _

_In case you missed it, we're holding a winter contest for authors and artists over on Tricky Raven, called **Once Upon A Winter**. The link to Tricky Raven can be found on my profile page. Be sure to include my name on the application if/when you sign up to join us on TR and don't leave any spaces blank! Once Upon A Winter features art and one-shots. There are TONS of great categories like Twilight, Marvel, DC, Once Upon A Time, Supernatural, Teen Wolf, The Originals, The Vampire Diaries, True Blood, Twilight Crossovers, Original Fiction, Original Verse, and Original Art and Fanart. The contest is now open and accepting entries for a few more weeks. Come join us; we'd love to see you on Tricky Raven!_

* * *

Characters: **Jacob, OC-Jessa Uley, Bella, OC-Drew, OC-Thad, mentions of Embry**

Genre: **friendship, fluff (Jacob holds a baby, prepare for exploding ovaries)**

Rating: **M, for language and adult themes**

Prompt: "Her eyes were closed, but she didn't need them." from Tricky Raven's Weekly Fanficton Flash Challenge.

* * *

**Jessa, The First to Imprint**

* * *

"You need any help, Jess?" Paul asked his…

_Niece? Step-sister…? __That shit is going to get confusing real quick_, Jessa thought, shifting Colton's weight on her hip as she juggled a drink and repositioned the last of the ornaments arranged by her tiny devils and their new Uncle Quil after dinner that evening.

Jessa sighed. Giving into the need for a bit of comfort, she rubbed her cheek over the downy softness of the baby's head.

Uncles and brothers melding together were about to become the norm with her Lahote siblings' older brothers all but moving in and her newly discovered half-brother, Sam, and his wife, Emily, spending more time at the farm until her older younger brothers finally phased.

_Older _younger brothers, she scoffed. More bullshit for which to thank their sperm donors, Josh Uley and Dirk Lahote.

Because she refused to use the word "father" to describe either of those two wastes of human life.

She shook her head. "Thanks, Paul, but I'm waiting for—"

The back door swung open with a bang and Jacob Black stomped in from the cold, dusting the snow from his thick shock of jet-black hair. When his eyes met Jessa's, a heartbreaking smile bloomed on his face that turned her knees to jelly.

Amused, Paul cleared his throat and staged a retreat. "I think I saw a couch downstairs. I'll just…"

"Thad's office," she murmured. "Bedding is in the ottoman in front of the sofa," she said, distracted, her eyes held captive in the young alpha's thrall.

" 'Night." Paul's parting word fell on deaf ears as Jacob toweled himself off.

Jessa stared, blinking when he cleared his throat. She came back to her senses, moving around the room to gather up mugs and the remaining mess from the night's festivities. Her mother and Embry called it a night more than an hour ago, retiring quietly to Bella's attic bedroom for a private reunion. They had a lot to talk about.

Then again, so did Jessa and Jacob.

"What is this?" she demanded, cradling her son's back in his worn sling carrier in one hand while deftly bussing the kitchen tables and counters with the other. Steeling her resolve, she raised her eyes to Jacob's. "I mean are we ever going to talk about it, or pretend there's nothing out of the ordinary happening between us?"

For a moment, neither said a word. Then, Jacob's shoulders dropped as he exhaled quietly, releasing tension she didn't realize existed until that moment. Taking a seat at the breakfast bar, he crossed his arms and leaned on his elbows.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered, uncrossing, recrossing his arms. He fidgeted, pressing the heels of his palms deep into his eye sockets as if to imprint there, as if those hands held the answers he needed. "Your mom is gonna kill me."

Those hands. The hands of a man who spent his days working hard for everything he earned—strong hands—framed his forehead as he rested a furrowed brow on his fingertips and massaged his temples.

"Why? What did you do?" she asked, rubbing Colton's back.

The sleepy toddler nuzzled her shoulder, murmuring in his sleep, _"Mama…"_

"I imprinted," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "When we all met the week before Christmas. You remember that day when you and the other kids came out to Port A to talk about how to help your mom?"

"Yes… The day we met, when we had no idea who Embry really was to Mom."

"The _moment_ we met," Jacob said with finality.

"The way you looked at me…" As if the world fell away and she became the sun, moon, and stars. As if she became gravity itself and he, the moon, circling her, watching her every move, anticipating her every need. As if she were the only person—not just in the room, but in all of existence.

Like Paul and the woman named Rachel. Jacob's sister, Rachel.

Jacob claimed they were only very close friends—best friends, but Jessa saw more. Longing looks, secret smiles—a connection—no matter how they deflected and redefined and explained it away.

A relationship, clear as day and twice as shiny. Denial and true love, all wrapped up in one complicated package.

"Anyway, it's called imprinting," Jacob sounded broken.

"You hate it." She saw it in his eyes.

"No. Not hate." He held a beseeching hand out, palm up, begging her to join him.

_How could she resist?_

Claiming the bar stool next to him, she pulled a bag of animal crackers from the shelf underneath and held out the open bag—a peace offering.

He tried again. "I imprinted on you—"

Her breath caught in her throat at the devastation in his voice, the watery rim of the eye hidden by shaking hands. She whispered, "You say that like it's final, like it's an unpardonable sin or punishment."

"It's complicated. When we phase—your mom told you about that part, I know—when we phase, our soul fractures into two parts, man and wolf. The two halves exist side by side, but no longer as part of one whole. Like a shard of the soul slips out in the bargain—the price paid for the magic required to phase. Imprinting is when the fractured soul of a wolf finds a missing piece, the only piece in the world that fits, the piece that can mend the divide as nothing else ever will, and the wolf finally feels complete." His soft voice conveyed a wealth of emotions, some sweet, some unutterably painful.

He sounded ... so unhappy. No; _resigned_. And it was then she realized this imprinting wasn't as simple as feeling like the sunlight in another person's day.

"It's complicated," she repeated, finally understanding. "Your soul seeks balance. You revel in feeling whole again, but there's a price to be paid for that. The imprinted person can still reject you," she whispered.

He chuckled. Unaccustomed joy flooded her heart. That sound. It happened because of her, because she understood—his reluctance, his shame, the joy he didn't yet want to acknowledge. She empathized and realized in that moment how very much she wanted to ease his burden, to make it all okay. And something clicked.

"Soul mates?" she ventured.

Inhaling sharply, he nodded once. "Or so they say, but … I don't … expect anything of you. You're my best friend's daughter. Soul mates doesn't have to mean _romantic _love. Your mother and I are soul mates in a way, too. Kindred spirits. I didn't understand that when I was younger. Your mother did." He smiled faintly.

"So it doesn't _have_ to be romantic?"

Jacob shook his head.

"Did you imprint on my mother?" She had to know.

He shook his head again.

"Did Embry?"

Jacob froze and Jessa closed her eyes, desperately afraid of the answer either way. Because "yes" meant her mom's choices weren't her own and "no" meant they might never be…

Her heart nose-dived into her belly when Jacob repeated the evening's refrain,_ "It's complicated."_

"How so?"

"Embry did what I wouldn't. His wolf claimed her and saved her life, but he did it for completely selfless reasons. It could have been me, but I wanted her to love me back. I wanted more—to be equals, but she never saw in me the lover she _needed_. Not like Embry," he admitted, though it pained him, if the deep creases and tight eyes were any indication.

Another revelation. "You loved my mother."

"I still do. Always will. She's my best friend," he said simply, tracing patterns on the marble counter with his finger. "But now I'm old enough to know that not all love is romantic love, nor is all romantic love returned."

A question suddenly flared in her mind, burning brighter than any other, the answer more important than anything, ever.

"Do you love _me_?"

"No." He chuckled. "And yes. But it's not romantic love, and that's okay. You're my best friend's daughter. I would have loved you either way, but now…"

"It's _complicated_," she surmised with a tiny smirk.

His head fell back on his shoulders and he laughed at the ceiling. "You have no idea."

"Are you attracted to me?" she ventured, clutching the sleeping baby at her hip.

But Jacob didn't answer right away and she was glad. That he took the time to think about it, to be sure, meant more to her than any unqualified "yes" or "no" would have.

Eventually, he found the words he needed. "You have many attractive _qualities_. You're bright ... and lovely," he admitted quietly. "You love your kids and you'd give them the world if you had it to give. You're young, ambitious, not afraid of a hard day's work. You want more for yourself and your children, better than you had growing up, maybe more than you thought you deserved. You won't settle for _less_ than you deserve." His eyes met hers and held. "You are _so much_ like your mother, and I know that is probably the worst thing I could say now that you know about my past with Bells, but it's no less true."

"No, I get it. Mom is…" Jessa smiled. "Worthy of emulating."

Jacob nodded in understanding. "That, she is. You're lucky to have her."

"Luck had nothing to do with it, but yeah, I know how fortunate we all are—me and my brothers and sisters. She found us and made us a family—a real one, not the ugly, broken shit we all came from." Bitterness bled through the admission, tainted by the memory of where Jessa came from—_what_ she came from.

"How old were you?" he asked. "When you met Bells?"

"Fifteen, almost sixteen, and already pregnant with Colly. Chloe wasn't even a year old yet."

Her shoulder ached. She shifted again, rolling her head side to side and flexing her shoulder blades to relieve the ache. Her eyebrows winged up in surprise when Jacob reached over to slide the sling from her shoulder. Gently, in those massive, calloused hands, he scooped up Colton and tucked him under his chin against his chest with practiced ease. A soft, rumbling sound followed and Colton settled.

"Me and Chloe took the bus home that night," she began "Her dad—their dad—was too drunk to drive. Violent, too, and nasty with the whiskey in his system. He hid the keys from me while he got drunk with some friends on Christmas Eve at a house party with some distant cousins. I didn't want to be there, but I was out of options. I'd been living with my aunt—my mom's step-sister at the time. My aunt was supposed to be gone the whole week of Christmas. She told me she didn't trust me not to have a party while she was gone and I had to find someplace else for me and Chloe to sleep…" Her voice faded as memories of that night flooded her mind.

The final Christmas Eve of her old life...

* * *

Sending up a prayer of thanks to whatever deity threw the social worker, Meg, into her life, fifteen year old Jessa climbed six flights to her aunt's apartment with Chloe tucked safely in the donated baby sling Meg provided the day the baby was born.

Jessa knew she wasn't supposed to be at the apartment, but she needed a safe, warm place to sleep with Chloe. Her aunt was gone for the week and Jessa had no plans to party.

Jessa never wanted to hear the word "party" again, truth be told.

The small suitcase and the diaper bag she packed for the week slowed her ascent. It took nearly half an hour to climb the stairs on her own with the baby in tow and the all-day nausea of baby number two climbing her throat at random intervals to be swallowed down and overcome. Forced to stop and take a break frequently until the nausea abated, she nearly sat down and slept right there on the stairs half a dozen times.

Christ, she could sleep for a week. All she wanted was a cup of tea and her tiny single bed in the closet her aunt called a spare room.

Almost anything was infinitely better than the alternative, though.

Suddenly struck by the quiet on the sixth floor, Jessa finally noticed just how dead it was. Like half the building sat empty. Had everyone gone away for the holiday?

Rounding the top rail of the last flight of stairs, she juggled the bags and patted her pockets for the keys, thumping the suitcase against the linoleum floor as she struggled.

A door creaked open. Mrs. Jensen, the nosy old lady on the other side of the hall poked her head out as Jessa fumbled for her keys.

"Won't need those, girl," Mrs. Jensen's sour voice broke the silence.

Jessa stopped, chills climbing up her spine. "Why's that, Mrs. J?" she asked.

"Pink slips." The old lady pointed to the door across the hall—Jessa's aunt's apartment. "They posted 'em up last week on the seventh floor. Then your side on Saturday. Your aunt cleared out early Monday. I expect our side will get them slips day after tomorrow. The city's doin' it in stages, like, so everybody's not trying to move all at once. Some fancy city engineer came through a few weeks back, said the building's gotta come down. Figured Sally told you since she cleared the place out after you left."

"I didn't _leave_, Mrs. J," Jessa insisted, fading fast and feeling green. "I was staying with Chloe's dad for a few days for the holiday break. I'm sure the notices are just about a necessary renovation or some letter about the rent going up. Aunt Sally probably got pissed about her rent getting jacked up again, packed her bags, and took off a day early for her trip."

But Jessa was wrong. Like … _really_ wrong.

The door to her aunt's apartment was unlocked. It wasn't even closed. The apartment was cleared out, every stick of furniture gone, even her bed and the baby's rocking swing were gone. Chloe's car seat, too—everything except Jessa's and the baby's clothes and a few boxes of personal items.

She tore through the apartment, startling the baby to stressed tears as she wrenched open cupboard doors and cabinets, checked the empty fridge, and, finally, conceded defeat when she found nothing in the medicine cabinet but her toothbrush and a bottle of infant Tylenol.

Everything else was gone.

"I expect she's in shock," someone whispered in the hallway.

Another voice, "Should we call someone?"

_"Who?"_ another voice demanded.

"The county. She's just a kid."

Then a nasty hiss that should have snapped Jessa out of it, "Child services outta take that baby. Damn girls getting themselves knocked up like they don't know how to keep their knees together these days."

They were right, though. Pregnant for the second time; she was that. Shocked, too; that's what she was.

Appalled.

Abandoned.

_Again._

Eyes closed, her throat thickened and a whimper of despair escaped. She cuddled her baby close, sat on the floor, and cried. She swore, she just needed a minute, but she took a few. It's not like it was the first time she'd been abandoned. She could do this. It would be harder this time, but she'd figure something out.

Eventually, survival instincts kicked in. She considered calling … _him_, but she knew he was in no condition to drive. There was another number, though. The social worker, Meg. She said to call if Jessa ever needed anything—any time of day, for anything at all. She trusted Meg—one of the few social services folks who'd never tried to talk her into giving up her kid. Meg helped her fill out the paperwork for county assistance and apply for WIC, dropped off donated baby clothes and other small necessities, introduced her to the leader of a breastfeeding support group for teen moms, even helped her get a prepaid cellphone for emergencies.

Meg was … good. She trusted her.

If there was anyone she could call on Christmas Eve…

It rang three times before a breathless, laughing voice answered, "Hello?"

"Um… Hi. I need some, uh, help. Um. Is… Is this Megan O' Reilly?"

Laughter burst from the background on the other end of the line. Christmas music played and Jessa felt sick. Meg was at a party. "One sec. Let me step outside," the voice was muffled. A moment later, "Sorry about that. This is Meg's phone. I'm answering her work calls this evening while she takes care of a family emergency out of town. What can I do to help?"

Not "what's your problem?" Or "what's wrong?", but "what can I do to help?"

Jessa started crying again.

"Whoa, whoa… It's okay. Take a breath." The woman took a deep breath, then another until Jessa followed suit. "You're upset and it's okay to cry, freak out, throw shit—whatever—_after _you tell me where you are and what I can do to help. Okay, honey?" The woman's voice soothed something deep and untouched in the young teen mother.

Jessa tried again, remembering to breathe deep as she explained. "I live with my aunt—_lived_ with. She told me she was going away for the holidays, made me stay with my little girl's dad for the week, but I think she just did it because she got evicted. The apartment is—" She hiccuped. "It's empty. I don't even have a car seat or anywhere to sleep or anything!" Her voice edged on hysteria.

"Shh…" The woman crooned. "You're in Seattle?"

Jessa hiccuped and confirmed her location, relaying the address slowly while the woman wrote it down.

"My oldest sons are going to come with me to help carry your things down to the truck. Will that be a problem?"

But Jessa didn't understand. She said so.

"I just want to make sure you're okay _with men_. My boys are young, probably not any older than you, but they're big guys and they can look intimidating, if you don't know them. You'll be okay with that?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jessa breathed.

She took a deep breath and the woman praised her, "That's a girl. You just relax. We'll be there as soon as we can and we'll bring a car seat. You just sit tight. You have enough money for diapers, if you run out before we get there?"

"No, but I'm okay. We're okay. I have enough for tonight."

"Okay, we'll be there soon. Save the charge on your phone in case you need to call again or I need to call you if we get turned around or caught in traffic on the way there."

"Yes, ma'am," Jessa repeated.

True to her word, the woman arrived less than two hours later. The gawking neighbors retreated down the hall to gossip by then. Jessa sat on the floor behind the front door with her back to the wall. A woman's voice called out and the door popped open, pulling Jessa from her numb reverie.

"Jessa?" A pair of gentle brown eyes peered around the edge of the doorway, framed by a shock of neon purple hair. "I'm Meg's friend, Bella. My boys are here to help, too. Is it okay for us to come in?"

Jessa nodded, wiping her nose and face on her sleeve.

A handkerchief appeared in front of her, a gentle male voice urging her to take it. "S'okay, I got more," he promised, pushing the tie-dyed hanky into her shaking fist. "I'm Drew. That's Thad." He hitched his thumb over his shoulder at another teenage boy. "He doesn't talk, but he's okay."

"Thank you," she whispered, eyes glued to the hanky.

"Won't take us long," Bella assured her, sizing up the belongings remaining in the apartment. "It's just that wicked walk back downstairs that'll take forever. I called Meg on the way. She'll bring some other necessities by our place for you in the morning, but you're probably stuck with us for a good little while, if you don't mind."

Jessa shifted from foot to foot. "No, ma'am. I don't mind staying anywhere, as long as Chloe is warm and clean. But um… Before you start, um, helping me, I should probably tell you— Um..." She fiddled with a loose thread on Chloe's hat.

"Jessa?" Long purple waves and a concerned face dipped into her line of vision.

"I'm pregnant." Her voice shook. "I'm fifteen and I'm pregnant. Again." She gulped, battling tears and the terror of another rejection. "I've been getting sick a lot, and, um, I totally understand if it's more than you thought you were getting into when you agreed to come get me and all. I was just calling Meg to see if she could get me and the baby into a shelter or something for a few nights until I figure something else out."

"We can find a bag or bucket or something for the ride, in case you get sick again, honey," Bella reassured her. "But you need to understand that you are coming home with me—not going to some drafty, impersonal shelter. Unless you _prefer_ the shelter…?"

Jessa's eyes widened in surprise. "No, I mean…" Her shoulders dropped in self-loathing. "You're really nice. And it's Christmas Eve. I heard— When I called, you were at a party. And now you're here and I wasn't very honest when I called. I didn't tell you everything."

Bella smiled and brushed Jessa's bangs out of her eyes. "That wasn't a party. We just had a few friends over for the holiday. They'll be coming and going all weekend. My teammates and the boys' friends. You get enough teenagers under one roof and there's always music and some game blaring in the background. We'll try to keep it to a dull roar until you settle in; I promise."

"Still, I have a baby and another one coming. It's Christmas and it's a lot of hassle—"

"Hey—" Bella interrupted, brushing Jessa's curls gently, so gently. "Every baby is a blessing. We'll make room. Okay?"

"Okay." Jessa nodded. She watched as Drew and Thad opened flattened cardboard crates with handles and lids, and packed her things neatly in the easy-to-carry parcels. Hefting two a piece, they each made three trips downstairs and out to Bella's extended cab truck with Jessa's belongings while Bella checked each room for anything they missed and helped Jessa gather her suitcase and diaper bag. Drew and Thad returned after their final trip to carry the rest of her things and Bella pilfered a small cleaning bucket from the janitor's closet down the hall in case of nausea on the way.

"Ready to go, kiddo?" she asked.

Jessa's gaze traversed one final time around the tiny space before she nodded and followed the boys out, leaving Bella to close the door on the apartment and the last sad chapter of Jessa's story.

* * *

Jacob cleared his throat when she finished relating her story. His cheeks pink, he swirled that same blunt fingertip on the counter. "So that means you're, uh, how old now?"

"Eighteen."

"Oh, _yeah_." Jacob nodded with certainty, lips pressed together. "Your mom is going to bludgeon me to death with a rollerskate."

"Why? How old are you?"

"Not eighteen," he chuckled, shaking his head and running fingers through his inky black hair.

"No, seriously, Jacob…" she insisted, wondering what he was so worked up about.

His sunny smile and eyes with a hint of cloud cover reluctantly met hers. He held his hand out as if to preempt whatever he thought she was thinking. "Just to be clear—nowhere does it say that imprinting is love at first sight. I am, first and foremost, your friend, someone to lend a hand when you need it, smooth the way when you're struggling. That's it."

"Cut the crap, Jake." Jessa had just about enough of his melodramatic shit. What was so bad about his age that her mother was going to flip her sh—

"Twenty-four."

Jessa blinked.

"Okaaay… That's not so bad," she started to outline for him all the reasons why it was no big deal, but then Jacob spoke up again.

"So is Embry."

"What?" she asked, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"Twenty-four. Embry is also twenty-four."

Jessa blinked rapidly in surprise, exhaling in shock. "But… He looks so much older, so hardened and intense, and, like, world-weary. And angry, or, I don't know... Like he could take your head off if you said the wrong thing at the wrong time."

She watched as Jacob's eyes dropped to the counter. He rolled his lips, biting them in a self-conscious gesture she already hated because it made him look sad. "He really missed your mom. The last eight years have been hell for him without her."

"Why did he wait so long to find her?"

"She left him a note, telling him he was too good for her, that she had to find herself. He knew she couldn't accept him until she conquered her own demons. So he waited, and he grew up."

That, Jessa understood. "I think they both did."

* * *

_Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoyed my little surprise! Review if you like, folks!_


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